Classic Poem

In the Vale

The mill-stream goes roaring —
The saw-teeth are gnashing —
The blow of the ponderous
Hammer falls crashing:
The mountains are smoking,
And, down in the dell,
The sunbeams are bidding
The wanderer farewell.

Oh, tell me, my heart,
What thy beatings betoken,
And then thy dead silence,
As if thou wert broken?
And whence are these tears again?
Ah, well-a-day!
Their house is in flames —
They no longer can stay!

The mill-stream it murmurs:
" Plunge down through my billows,
And ease thy worn limbs
On the softest of pillows!"
The saw-teeth go sighing:
" We shape thee, poor breast,
Ere the morrow's long journey,
A chamber of rest!" —

Comes dancing and singing
Along to the water,
In form like an angel,
The miller's fair daughter;
A silvery melody
Rings through her song:
" My heart's-love, my dearest,
Where stay'st thou so long?"

The mountains are darkling:
The wanderer breathes lighter,
His tears are dried up,
All within him grows brighter;
The mill-wheels they clatter:
Beat gaily, poor breast!
On the heart of thy loved one,
There findest thou rest!EnglishSchnetzler